Sons of the Dragon
by Oberon Sexton
Summary: Summerhall has come and gone, the Targaryen dynasty is nearing it's end. Yet the blood of dragon still flows within the world, from the heart of Storm's End to the far reaches of Essos, the sons of the Dragon continue to live and love and fight. A spiritual sequel to War of the Dragons.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

Hoofs drummed down the street as Gaemon rode his black stallion down the sloped hill that led to the docks. Many of the fishermen and merchants yelled and cursed as his mailed form rode past them without restraint, he struggled to keep his beast steady as he turned and rode up near the wharfs. His relief was palpable once he caught sight of _Maiden's Kiss_ still at anchor and he thanked the Seven for their mercy.

Daenys was standing there waiting for him, her silvery gold hair covered under a veil and a child in her arms. _Varys_ he realised as he dismounted and approached, his son was fast asleep in his mother's tight embrace. Beside them stood the other boy, his cousin's bastard, in his young hands was Gaemon's daughter Serra. To see them all nearly tore his heart asunder.

"Have they demanded anything?" he asked before taking his newborn son from Daenys arms. "Do they require more coin?"

Daenys shook her head sadly, she seemed composed yet her voice betrayed the turmoil of her heart. "They only ask that we leave shortly, I do not think that they wish to stay here much longer with the war looming."

Gaemon snorted. "I never expected bravery from murmmers," the ship was not the sort he had wished for his family, but it was the only thing that he could arrange under such circumstances. "You'll be safe with them at least, you and the children."

Tears began to well up in Daenys eyes and it struck Gaemon just how much he had ruined things. _She is too young for this, _he thought; _I am too young for this. I just wanted someone to share my life with and now I have invited war upon us all. _

As if reading his mind, Daenys reached out and touched his cheeky with her slender fingers. "It is not your fault, if I had not run away from them then you and Aelix would be safe and-"

"-and our children would never have been born," he smiled. "There has been much grief from all of this, but these two are more than worth it." He glanced down at the child in his arms and the babe in his cousin's. "My little prince and princess, papa loves you."

Behind them a fire broke out in the distance, sending an orange glow up into the night sky and the faint sounds of battle echoed in air. Daenys took Varys back from him and clutched at him tightly, her beautiful face struggling to conceal the fear that welled deep within. "_Come with us,"_ she whispered hoarsely. "There's still time."

Gaemon could only give her the smallest of smiles. "No my love, there isn't. I must stay and keep them distracted while you and the crew get as far away from here as possible. Pentos would be best; my brother had friends there who would be willing to help." His brow furrowed. "Remember what I told you, do not trust anyone and only go to the names I have written down for you."

Through tears he looked down at his young cousin who was watching them in confusion, no doubt unaware of everything that was happening. _Would that my brother wasn't so hesitant about sending you back to the family, you could have be spared all of this. _He forced a smile and bent down to one knee before the child. "Will you look after them for me coz? They will need someone to protect them after I'm gone."

The little boy's face went deadly serious and he gave a solemn nod. "I promise coz, I'll keep them safe. I'll be just like Aemon the Dragonknight!"

Gaemon laughed despite himself and rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder before glancing down at his sleeping daughter. He gently caressed the soft tuff of silvery gold hair from her head and gave it a soft kiss. He stood and took them all into an embrace, careful not to let them see him cry, before he gave his lover one last kiss. "_Go." _ He whispered before urging them away, back up into the big ship where the captain stood watching with a grimace.

He waited until the ship had raised anchor and began moving off into the darkness of the night before he went back to his horse and rode through the streets again. Most of the citizens were screaming and choking the paths but he managed to ride his way through them back to his manse. Despite wanting to send them away, he decided that it would better serve the illusion if he kept guards about his home. _Though the only thing worth protecting is sailing far away from here…_

It wasn't until after he had finished his third cup of wine that he began to hear the clang of steel coming from his courtyard and by the time he had drained his forth they were already banging at his chamber door, knocking the great wooden slab from its hinges. Gaemon casually unsheathed his sword and rose, as half a dozen men burst into his room, all of them wearing finely polished steel plate armour with rich bands of gold adorning their persons.

Despite outnumbering Gaemon six-to-one, the soldiers remained at a distance before parting as another man made his way behind them. The man stood tall in his fancy silver armour, a red lion emblazoned upon his broad chest declaring his heritage of House Reyne. His jaw was square and covered with fine golden stubble that was several shades lighter than the auburn mop that hung down his head, his nose had clearly been broken more than once and a large dented scar adorned his brow. The man's shining green eyes burned with determination as he scanned the room before settling on Gaemon.

"Where is she?" he demanded with a stern growl. "Where is the heir of Daemon Blackfyre?"

Gaemon forced a laugh despite his fear. "She's beyond your reach Lord Hill, I'm afraid you travelled all this way for nothing. Though I am _most _grateful that you chose to pay me a visit, it is so rare that I get visitors of your standing."

The man's green eyes boiled with something for a moment before he turned to his men. "Check the rest of estate; make sure they aren't hiding in any of the rooms." The soldiers scattered about past Gaemon as if he was nothing more than a piece of furniture, tossing beds over and ripping doors from their hinges.

Hill's eyes never left Gaemon, twin storms that were slowly picking the Targaryen to pieces as he studied him. Rumours and myth surrounded the newest Lord Commander of the Golden Company, all of which were spoken in harsh whispers. Some said he was the bastard great-grandson of Robb Reyne, others swore that he was Bittersteel himself reborn; all agreed that he was a brutal man.

"Why do you do this Targaryen?" he asked with a low growl. "Even amongst a line of Usurpers your father was usurped. What loyalty do you owe your Westerosi kin? If you gave us the woman and children you would be the father of a king and queen, forefather to a dynasty."

Gaemon frowned. "Forefather to another century of pointless wars over some damned chair," he shook his head. "I will not be party to that, and Daenys wouldn't either."

The Lord Commander took out his long Valyrian sword and pointed to Gaemon with it. "You already _are_, you and the girl both. You want peace? Then perhaps you shouldn't have fucked your children into the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

The Targaryen gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "Why do you care? You are no Blackfyre."

Instead of speaking the Sellsword answered with steel and lunged at Gaemon, slashing and hacking with a force that the untrained lordling had never experienced and it was all he could do to keep his blade up. With a grunt of effort he shoved his enemy back, struggling for breath as Hill stared back at him with a bored expression.

"This is pathetic, you're nothing but a spoiled craven who refuses to face the world," Hill's voice was dripping with malice. "What did you think would happen when you got a Blackfyre pregnant with your spawn? Your _Targaryen_ spawn. You have given my cause the greatest weapon against the pretenders currently sitting the Throne; with your children I can rally both Blackfyre _and_ Targaryen to my side. The seven kingdoms will rise up in glorious revolution and Daemon Blackfyre's blood will finally take their rightful place."

"_Never!"_ hissed Gaemon as he rushed his opponent, swinging wildly with a strength he didn't know he had.

Hill ducked and weaved before casually swiping downwards in steep motion, knocking the blade from Gaemon's hands and disarming him. Before the Targaryen could think he felt the wind leave his chest and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Hill's sword hadn't quite hit Gaemon's heart but it presently sat not two inches beneath it. With a violent twist Hill pulled the blade free and let Gaemon fall backwards to the marble ground below.

Lord Hill stood over him like a towering colossus. "I will find those children, and when I do, this world will know a new age of the Black Dragon," he grabbed a handful of Gaemon's silver hair and pulled him close. "And it will all be because of _you."_

**_ACROSS THE NARROW SEA….._**

In that moment, high up on the ramparts, there were only the rolling hills of green and grey, caught in twilight. The setting sun hung low and violet on the horizon, and its rays slanted down silently onto the dense forest. What was left of the day was quickly leaking from the world, the sun going away to wherever it slept at night while the rest of the world threw it a marvellous farewell.

Steffon Baratheon soaked it all in, as he did every day, as he had always done. Unlike the rest of his kin, Steffon enjoyed the beauty of nature at every opportunity, it was something that his mother had instilled upon him from a young age and became a part of his daily ritual. Despite being lost in his thoughts he could still hear someone calling his name in the distance. "_Steffon!"_ came the deep baritone voice, the sounds of heavy metal boots thumping on the stone as it approached. "Dammit boy where are you?"

The heir of Storm's End opened his eyes and turned towards the sound. "I'm here uncle!" he called before walking down the many steps to the courtyard. His uncle Harbert met him halfway down the stairwell, his large form stopping the young lordling up and trying to look stern as he inspected Steffon's clothing, casually dusting his tunic off.

"Lords Connington, Estermont and the others have arrived already," he complained as they hurried down the stairs. "It's very important that you make a good impression on them, especially on Connington, he needs little excuse to cause trouble."

"Yes uncle, " was all Steffon said as he moved down the steps and into the hallway. While he was but fifteen, Steffon and his Uncle Harbert were almost of the same height and it seemed like a lifetime ago when his uncle used to pick him up and sit atop his shoulders. _The world seems much larger when you're a child,_ he reflected sombrely.

When they entered the great hall they found the room alive with the beginnings of a feast, with maids and servants hurrying along the various tables, quickly placing plates of food down for the highborn guests and a collection of musicians were setting up for the entertainment. Steffon spied his Father deep in conversation with Lord Cafferen, discussing some matter about the Rainwood forest. Around him sat the Lords Connington, Wylde and Estermont, each of them eagerly digging into their freshly cooked meals. Steffon couldn't help but stare at the empty seat to his father's left, it had remained vacant for almost two years now and every time the young lord caught sight of it he felt a painful tug in his chest. _I miss you,_ he thought sadly as he remembered the bright purple of his mother's never said the words aloud but often repeated them in his head every day like a prayer. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could still see the flames of Summerhall, could still smell the thick choking smoke.

Lord Edric gave the smallest of nods when he saw Steffon and Harbert enter and the two Baratheons quietly slipped in beside lord Grandison while said lord was none the wiser. The servants likewise quietly put down a small plate of duck in front of the uncle and nephew before slipping away quietly. They ate in relative quiet as the others all chatted amongst themselves and Steffon tried his best to keep his boredom from spoiling theevening. Eventually his Uncle Harbert nudged him in the ribs and gestured to a couple of arguing lords sitting on a table below them. "You see that fat one, with the drooping beard?" he said, pointing with his knife. "That is lord Errol, and he has been giving your father and I quite a bit of grief with his constant bickering with lord Fell, the man who is sitting on the opposite side of the room."

"What have they been fighting about?" asked Steffon curiously.

Harbert gave a snort of laughter at that. "Why, a woman of course. What else?" he laughed again and downed a cup of ale. "Fell's sister claims to have been dishonoured by lord Errol's son, or at least that's what she'd have you believe. Such things should be beneath the duties of Lord but alas my boy we have to suffer them, you must remember that when you inherit Storm's End. Even the smallest of matters must be attended to."

Steffon gave a firm nod and turned his eyes back to the feast. _So many grumpy old men, how does father put up with them all?_ Edric Baratheon would laugh at that in his booming voice and shrug the question off in his usual manner. Old lord Penrose was glaring at lord Lonmouth while the knights on either side tried to distance themselves from the brewing dispute, behind them Bonifer Hasty was preaching to a Tarth man. Steffon frowned in boredom until he caught sight of someone sitting down on one of the tables.

Her hair was the colour of chestnuts, thick and curly, framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes in contrast, were a vibrant green and when she laughed they would visibly brighten like two stars of wildfire. The young woman was sitting quietly with her attendants, smiling and laughing as they exchanged gossip. For some reason Steffon found that he could not take his eyes from the maiden and wished for once that he had his uncle Harbert's confidence. After a time the girl noticed that he was looking at her and gave him a shy smile.

Steffon smiled back.


	2. Thundering justice

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who left a review**

"HA! You see that boy? Strongbeak still has the stuff even after all these years!"

Harbert Baratheon was grinning broadly as his old bird swooped down and caught a rabbit in its razor sharp talons. Steffon and his uncle often went hawking together and the young heir of Storm's End often found it relaxing, though his own bird wasn't anywhere near as skilled as his uncle's.

Today was somewhat unusual from their normal hawking sessions, as Steffon's father had decided to join them. Edric Baratheon casually extended his arm as his own bird, Flyingstorm returned to him, waiting for its mask to go back on. Steffon noted that there was something odd with the way his father was looking off into the overcast sky. Beneath his heavy brow were eyes like bottomless blue pools. His curly blue-black hair hung past his shoulders like a mane and his beard was so short that it seemed like a shadow on his large jaw. "You ought to show a little more tact Harbert," he chastised slightly.

Harbert laughed at that. "I seem to recall countless times when you told me and everyone who would listen about how you were the best man to ever swing a war hammer and how you once beat Ser Duncan the Tall at the jousts."

Steffon's father did not smile and instead quickly changed the subject. "I can see a storm brewing on the horizon, we'd best get back inside."

The gloomy clouds had begun to grow in mass and darken considerably as the wind blew them closer and Steffon had to agree with his father. With much hesitation on Harbert's part they finally brought their birds back and returned to the safety of the castle. As they took dismounted in the courtyard and had the servants tend to their horses, Harbert gave Steffon a slight nudge in the ribs. "I saw you the other night, making eyes at that Estermont girl." His uncle laughed. "She's pretty enough isn't she?"

Steffon blushed a little at that. "So what if I was! She has nice eyes…"

"_Eyes? _HA!" Harbert's laugh caused several of the servants look up, startled. "Boy, I'm plenty sure that you weren't just lookin at her eyes!"

Steffon frowned at his uncle and continued back up to his chambers. He looked at one of the books that sat on his table, it told of how Orys Baratheon and Rhaenys Targaryen captured the Stormlands for Aegon the Conqueror. Steffon knew the story well enough that the book didn't offer much by way of excitement yet it had been a gift from his Uncle Aemon and he liked to occasionally hold the leather binding in his hands, read the pages his uncle had earmarked. It was as close as he could get to his uncle now.

His family was mostly gone now, his grandfather, his uncles and even his mother. Sometimes he would wake up and for a few peaceful moments would forget that most of his loved ones were dead, but then reality would sink in and his heart would break all over again. It wasn't just those that had died that had been taken from him, even his surviving family members had all been changed since Summerhall. His Uncle Jaehaerys the king had never been a hale and healthy man to begin with, but after the great fire he had worsened greatly and hardly left the Red Keep, likewise his cousin Aerys had begun to acting more and more erratic, likewise his cousin Rhaella who used to be so full of life was now withdrawn and quiet, her only joy coming from her son Rhaegar.

_Grandfather was a fool for making them wed,_ he decided. _They hardly like each other at the best of times and now they're bound to each other._ It seemed extremely cruel and Steffon often wondered why his kind, thoughtful grandsire would force such a thing on them.

His father had taken the tragedy the worst. Lord Edric had been away dealing with lord Tarth when King Aegon had called his family together at the grand summer home and when he returned to Storm's End he was greeted with the news that not only was the king dead, but his own lady wife had been claimed by the fires. It was Targaryen tradition to be burnt and since none of them could recover the princess' remains, there was no official funeral, only a large prayer in the Sept of Baelor, the whole time his father stood amongst the procession with his jaw set and his dark blue eyes fuming.

Now the only warmth left within Storm's End came from Steffon's uncle Harbert and his bastard daughter, who had a talent for making friends easily and brightening any room she stepped into. If Steffon was honest with himself he had to admit that he wouldn't be sure of how he would have coped if he didn't have his gregarious relatives around to remind him of the good things in life.

"Your eyes will fall out if you keep your head in books all day,"

Steffon looked up with a start to see his cousin Myrcella standing in his doorway, arms crossed and smirk upon her face.

"How else do you expect to keep your wits if you don't read?" he replied with a cheeky grin.

Myrcella merely rolled her eyes before sitting herself up on his desk, snatching the book from his hands before inspecting it briefly. After she had deemed it boring she put it down and gave Steffon a sceptical look. "What's got you looking so glum?"

Steffon raised a brow. "Glum, I'm not glum. I'm…" he struggled to find the right word before it finally came to him. "I'm just reflective."

His cousin snorted at that before playing with a stray lock of her black hair. "How was the feast?" she asked absently, trying to pretend as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

_She was upset that she couldn't go, _he realized sadly. As his uncle's bastard Myrcella was not allowed all of the indulgences that the rest of the family enjoyed and while she claimed to not care, Steffon could always tell that it bothered her quite a bit.

"It was rather dull if you must know," he said with a shrug, "hardly anyone spoke to me and I had to sit in attendance for most of the night…what you did?"

"Oh, I just had my supper with Septa Janyse and then went to bed early…typical day in the life of Myrcella Storm." She said wistfully before jumping off the desk and giving Steffon a sharp poke in the ribs. "Come; let's go see if they have any more of those cakes you like down in the kitchens."

Slowly but surely the young heir to Storm's End rose to his feet and let Myrcella take his hand in hers. The pair then hurried down to the kitchens, careful not to be seen as they grabbed one of the cooling pastries and went outside towards the courtyard to enjoy it. Myrcella devoured her jam covered treat in minutes while Steffon chewed more slowly and considerately, savouring each bites. _If father finds out I've raided the Kitchens again he'll ban sweats for moons turn!_

Myrcella absently walked over to one of the practice dummies that had been left out and ran her fingers down the dinted and cut wood. "Do you hit theses often?" she asked curiously.

"Well, when I'm training alone I do," he confessed, "but more often than not Ser Munfrey likes to have all at least four of us about to spar with…it can be tiring stuff."

"Must be fun, being able to hit someone when you're angry." There was something in his cousin's tone that Steffon didn't like, he wondered if she had been arguing with her father again.

Above them the sky had darkened considerably and Steffon could hear the faint drops of rain begin to spit down onto the earth. Rain was a constant in the Stormlands, to Steffon all it meant was more muck to train in the next day. _Mother had been amazed by the rain_, no matter how light or how heavy Princess Rhaelle would marvel at the sight, sound and smell of rainfall. _Best not to think of that,_ he told himself quickly before turning back to Myrcella who was looking at him peculiarly.

"What?" he asked, trying to get her to stop looking, "Have I something on my face?"

His cousin quickly looked down with a blush, "No, no nothing like that, I was just….never mind."

Steffon wanted to press her on it but decided to let the matter rest for now, instead he shot her a smile and took her by the hand. "Come, we'll go see Maester Denys."

* * *

He broke his fast the next morning with his father, the two of them quietly enjoying a meal of bacon and eggs. They said little but the silence was not altogether uncomfortable, in fact Steffon felt content sitting in his father's presence and enjoying a meal with him, small moments such as that were seldom had nowadays.

"Ser Munfrey has told me that you're making considerable progress with your swordplay," there was the smallest hint of a smile on lord Edric's face and Steffon felt his heart leap. Edric took a bite from his toast before speaking again. "He also tells me that you have the makings of a Tourney knight."

"I'm alright," said Steffon, trying to be modest. "But I doubt I'd be any good against _real_ knights."

Edric's smile did not waver. "Oh you're probably better than you give yourself credit. Back when I was your age I didn't think much of myself either, but then I knocked Ser Duncan the Tall from his horse," his blue eyes drifted off as he found himself in memory. "King Aegon himself was there and your mother…" the colour seemed to drain from his face then as he stirred up a particularly painful memory and once again silence fell over the table.

It did not last long however, as Maester Denys came barging through the doors, an exasperated look on his wrinkled face. "Forgive me my lord, but the riders you sent out have returned with the prisoner."

The lord of Storm's End looked at the man with annoyance. "So? Have the men put in the dungeon; I'll deal with him after I finish supping with my son."

"My lord…men of House Dondarrion are with him, knights, my lord. They demand to speak with you…"

_"Demand?_" the look Edric gave him was dark. "Who do these gnats think they are? Fine, I'll see to them, but afterwards I intend to send a raven to Blackhaven so that Lord Dondarrion might educate them in manners." He glanced at Steffon, "You can keep eating if you want."

There was little else Steffon had to do this morning so he stood from the table and followed his father and the Maester out into the great hall, where a dozen men at arms stood, some were arguing with men bearing the purple lightning bolt of Dondarrion. He also noticed that a man in ragged clothing was on knees before them.

His father stormed up to them, while Steffon and Maester Denys barely managed to keep up. "What's the meaning of this? I ordered that man be returned for punishment, what business do you men have with him?" Edric's voice was like rolling thunder and he stood at least a foot taller than the Dondarrion men.

One of them finally managed to work up the courage to speak, and seemed to stand up straighter as he took out a scroll and handed it to the Baratheon. "This man saved the life of Lord Dondarrion's nephew; brought him back to safety after the boy got lost on a hunt…milord would ask for clemency."

Edric's eyes flicked down the letter, his jaw set and the sound of him grinding his teeth became more and more apparent as he scrunched the letter up in a fist. "Does Lord Dondarrion know what this man has been accused of?" when the men made no response Steffon thought that his father would strike them but instead he turned his cold gaze down at the kneeling man. "This worm your lord is so fit to pardon is a _rapist. _ One morning, while Ser Munfrey's daughter was out riding this man attacked her, stole her maidenhead and left her beaten and bloody on the side of the road like a common animal, she was a child of twelve. So no, good Sers, I will not offer clemency for this man, instead I'll give him the rope and hang his corpse for all to see."

The kneeling man tried to beg for mercy before Baratheon struck the man hard across the face, after that the man was silent and Edric gave the orders to have him executed. The Dondarrion men were sent off with a cold look and an unspoken threat.

Once they were alone Steffon turned to his father, a confused look on his face. "Why did you not have that man executed? He saved Lord Dondarrion's nephew, shouldn't that at least earn him an alternative like the Night's Watch? Or even gelding?"

Edric looked down at his son, his eyes holding barely contained fury deep within them. "No, he deserved to die. A good act does not wash out the bad."


	3. Ambitions

**As always, big thanks to Ramzes for the reviews, they keep this story alive!**

"Please!" squealed the merchant, "Please! I don't know anything!" he was bound tightly to his chair, unable to move his body far. What he lacked in mobility his eyes more than made up for, dark and beady, they constantly darted all about the small room.

Calling it a room would have been generous, in truth it was little more than a grubby brown box with two doors facing each other. The ceiling was too low for comfort, the room too brightly lit by blazing lamps which caused all of Aelix's instruments to shine brightly on the scarred table top. The little eyes fell upon them for the seventh time. "I know nothing!"

"I'll be the judge of what you do and don't know," Aelix wiped some sweat from his brow. It was a hot day outside and down in the cramped room ventilation was bad. "I seem to recall hearing that you've had several prominent dealings with Orzello, tell me, when does he plan to take his big sister's fortune?"

"I was never told! I swear by all the gods in the world!"

Aelix frowned. _There aren't enough to save you from me._

"I will ask you once more," Aelix reached towards the table, while the merchant's wide eyes followed his every movement, and slid his hand slowly around the grips of the pincers. He lifted them up and examined them, the well-sharpened jaws glinting in the bright lamplight. "When is Orzello planning to attack his sister? You had best give me an answer I like or I'll rip out your finger nails."

The merchant struggled vainly from within his bonds, eyes never leaving the pincers in Aelix's hand. His skin was drenched with sweat and he was shaking like a leaf, he swallowed slowly. "I swear Ser, that Orzello neve-_ARGH_!"

The nail came off without too much effort, in Aelix's experience it was all about the right amount of pressure and force applied. "That's one finger, you still have nine more and once I'm done with them I intend to take your teeth."

"Please! Ser, I beg you!"

"Your begging is worthless to me. What I need from you is answers. When does Orzello plan on attacking his sister?"

"I swear on my life that I don't know!"

"Not good enough." Aelix began to squeeze down on the man's thumb nail, the metal edges starting to bite into the sensitive skin underneath.

The merchant gave a despairing shriek. "Wait! He said something about sundown! I don't know how exactly but he said sundown!"

"Sundown is it?" Aelix let the pressure release a fraction. "How many men will he be bringing?"

"Twenty! Twenty sellswords, all of them street thugs with no connection to him, I swear that is all I know!"

Aelix clicked his tongue. _Twenty men? That's hardly worth my time, but mayhaps the lovely lady will want her own people to deal with the matter. We have the numbers and the quality, but not the means; I wonder what my fat little friend knows of Orzello's finances…._

"Tell me, how much coin does Orzello have? He must be desperate indeed to try and rob his own sister."

"I…I…I don't know!"

He hit the man hard across the face then, hard enough to hear a delightful crack come from his nose. The merchant whimpered for a time before falling still and staring at him, bubbles of spit forming and breaking on his lips. Aelix leaned closer. "Do you seriously believe that you can keep your secrets from me? You belong to me, now. To me, and to this room. This cannot, and will not stop until I know what I need to know." He clamped the pincers down on the end of the man's index finger. "How difficult can that be to understand?"

Nateya's dining chamber was fabulous to behold. Cloths of silver and crimson, gold and purple, green and blue and vivid yellow, rippled in the gentle breeze from the narrow windows. Screens filigree marble adorned the walls, great posts as high as a man stood in the corners. Coloured candles burned in tall glass jars, casting warm light into every corner, filling the air with sweet scent.

Lady Nateya, elder sister to Orzello and heir to her family's fortune, was herself the centrepiece. She sat at the top of the table in a pristine white gown, shimmering silk with just the slightest, fascinating hint of transparency. A small fortune in jewels flashed on every inch of tanned skin, her hair piled up and held in place with ivory combs, excepting a few strands, curling artfully around her face.

Aelix sat in the chair at the opposite end, casually tasting a fine Dornish red. "So tell me, my lady, what will become of your brother? I do hope he hasn't suffered a too….grizzly of fates."

She looked up with an air of injured innocence. "You think I would hurt my own dear brother?" a smile found its way into the corners of her mouth. "If you really want to know, then go take a look outside that window."

He did just that, and was met with the sight of a man, chained hand and foot to a large pillar in the courtyard. "You mean to keep him as a dog?" he asked.

A lyrical giggle of amusement escaped her lips. "That would be too kind a fate for his like; I intend to send him over to Yunkai with my next shipment of spices. Perhaps they can make a half decent slave from him."

Aelix couldn't help but lick his lips. The woman hosting him was cold, cold enough to brutalize her own kin and condemn him to a life of merciless horrors. _Yet he did start things first,_ he reminded himself. _He tried to kill her, so what is a little blood spilt between murderers?_ He returned to his seat.

"How did things go on the financial side of things?" he asked mildly before taking another sip of wine. "Do you find out who was stealing from you?"

Nateya smiled wide, displaying two rows of perfect teeth. "They were found out, thanks to your information broker. He really is quite good, though I do find it odd that such a dashing young man like you would keep company with a eunuch."

_One can't just abandon family now can they? _ "You'll find that when it comes to collecting secrets, few are as skilled as Varys." He drained his glass of excellent wine. "And there are few as skilled with a blade as Illyrio."

"What a team you make," she said with a grin. "Out on the streets doing all the dirty work you can find, how old are you Aelix, fifteen?"

"Old enough," he said with a shrug. "Childhood does not last long in Essos, you have to learn a few things quicker than most."

Nateya leaned forward, a wine glass held within her hands. "What kinds of things?"

"The kind you'd like."

Lady Nateya laughed. It was an easy, open, friendly laugh. It was hard to believe that anyone who made such a lovely sound could be a merciless killer, or anything other than a perfectly charming host. "You intrigue me Aelix, I fear I am growing fond of you." She gestured to his cup. "Would you care for more wine?'

"Of course."

She got up from her chair and swept towards him, bare feet padding on the cool marble as nimble as a dancer's. The breeze stirred the flowing garments around her body as she leaned forwards to fill Aelix's cup, wafted her scent in his face. Her eyes met his briefly, and she gave a tiny, knowing smile and looked back at his cup.

"Let me ask you something Aelix," she said as he took the cup from her. "What do you want in life?"

_To murder every priest I can get my hands on, to get Serra out of the Pillow house, to find my father wherever he might be, to go home. _ "I want to be rich and live comfortably."

Nateya slid into the nearest chair, put her elbows on the table, her chin on her hands, and held Aelix's eye. "I think there's more to you than that, I think somewhere within that brilliant young head of yours there are dreams of glory, boundless ambition. When I look at you I see potential, so much potential," her hand slid under the table and moved up along his thigh. "You just need to reach out and _grasp_ it…."

Aelix lifted a single brow and drained his cup. "I think we should continue this discussion in the other room."

Nateya smiled as she raised her glass. "Clever boy."

"How did the _negotiations_ go?"

Aelix frowned over as his cousin appeared from seemly nowhere on the street beside him. "You really shouldn't have to ask Varys, where were you? Hiding under the bed?"

Varys allowed a faint smile to pass over his bald, slightly plump face. "Do you think she'll be agreeable?"

"She was very agreeable an hour ago," he replied with sly grin. "But we'll have to see. How did you and Illyrio do?"

His cousin gave a shrug. "My little mice were able to follow our dear friend the Magister back to his love nest and steal away his family ring, and Illyrio sold it back to him for our agreed price. One cannot help but marvel at the desperate greed of some men."

"I heard the gang of Tyroshi thieves are after your head," Aelix scratched at the golden stubble that was forming at his jaw. "Do I need to get my tools out?"

Varys giggled at that, a threatening sound if Aelix had ever heard one. "I would think not, but then….one can never predict the future."

They walked in silence for a time, walking down the nearly deserted streets. Night did odd things to Pentos, the city seemed abuzz during the day but at night most would think it became a ghost town in certain streets. Aelix knew better. There was rough ten or eleven different men who had been watching the two cousins stroll down the streets, all of them hiding away in the darkness. Absently he rubbed at his tools sitting within his cloak, the feeling gave him reassurance.

It was the hour of the wolf when they finally returned to the abandoned manse that had sheltered them for the last few years. It was dark and it smelled bad. It always smelled bad down by the docks; old salt water, rotten fish, tars and sweat and horse shit. In a few hours' time the streets around it would be thronging with noise and activity. There would be an endless tide of people, shuffling off the ships and shuffling on, people from every part of the world, words shouted in every language men could speak. But at night it was silent and still.

Illyrio greeted them inside, an apple being shoved into his mouth. Aelix could only sneer at the sight of it. "Eating, you're always eating. A fat sellsword is no good to anyone!"

"Food is what gives me my gallant strength." He smiled.

Aelix could only shake his head at that and set down his tools on a half rotted table nearby, along with his cloak. He could faintly feel stickiness on his back and when he put his hand to the place it came back red. Already it was staining his grey scarth. "Fucking thing," he muttered angrily.

"Ah! What's this?" said Illyrio, hurrying up to examine the wounds. "Claw marks! Had a run in with a ravenous beast did you?" his grin was annoyingly broad.

"What are you gawking at?" he asked irritably. "They're only scratches."

"A man's scars tell his story. Yours is a story I would like to read," his grin grew wider. "How was she?"

Despite himself, Aelix felt the beginnings a smile tug at his mouth. "I don't think there's a word for what she was."

"Showed you a few tricks did she?"

_She showed me that I want to rule this city as the prince I rightfully am. _ Aelix smiled and looked down at the tattered rag that he had worn for nearly every day of his life, stained with blood. _I will rule someday, and that time will be soon._


	4. Family

**As always, thanks for the reviews! they keep this story going!**

"Are you sure this is alright?" Steffon frowned at his cousin with worry. "You won't get in trouble?"

Aerys gave a hearty laugh at that. "Cousin, being the king means I _can't_ get in trouble."

Steffon nodded absently, still unable to shake his misgivings, all the while staring out at the open fields before them. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and the sun shone down upon them as if it was just for them. He urged his horse closer to Aerys while the Kingsguard moved behind them. "So the court will be fine?" he asked again.

"You worry like an old woman Steffy," Aerys chuckled as he watched the hounds chase after a hare. "Tywin will see to everything, just try to have a good time. That's an order."

The Baratheon couldn't help but grin. "Aye, Your Grace, whatever you say."

One of the hounds came running back to them, a hare in its mouth and its tail wagging happily. Aerys laughed as it dropped its prize and sat waiting to for appraisal. "How is the hunting in the Storm Land's, Coz?"

"Well," he said, considering. "It rains a lot more, and the deer are cleverer by half, but it can be extremely enjoyable. You and Prince Rhaegar should come stay some time."

The king gave a faint smile. "I would be delighted, though I'm unsure about Rhaegar. The boy doesn't seem to care for much outside his books and his music, he's better suited to being a Maester than an warrior," his smile turned into a grimace. "It's Rhaella's fault. She coddles him too much; it's unbefitting for a future king."

Steffon sighed, long and deep. His cousins were never close, they were siblings yet by some bizarre whim their grandfather they were forced into marriage. It made Steffon fell rather sad when he thought about how badly their relationship had become. "I'm sure she's just trying to do right by him."

"But he needs to be strong," insisted Aerys, "One day he may need to lead an army into battle and have to fight some threat to throne, he can't do that if he's off with his head inside a book."

"He's _nine_, Aerys, there's still time yet."

Aerys gave a weary nod. "Yes, you're probably right, as usual. I just…" his purple eyes searched the horizon for something. "This isn't what I had planned for my life, this wasn't the marriage I had wanted…"

Steffon knew exactly who his cousin was talking about, but only bloodshed could come from that. Joanna Lannister was married to the Hand of the King, and if there was one thing that Steffon knew about Lord Tywin, it was that he was not forgiving.

The king shook the thought away and was suddenly smiling again. "But enough about my marriage, it's _you_ who needs to find a bride," he tutted. "It's long since passed time that you married and there are a few suitable matches about. I hear lord Tyrell has a few fine looking daughters, and Jasper Arryn's daughter is as of yet unwed. The Arryns provided brides for House Targaryen in the past you know, certainly any of them would work. No one will say no, not if I have any say in the matter."

Steffon shifted uncomfortably in his saddle at that. "Actually….I already had someone in mind, someone from the Stormlands."

"Oh, and who is this lady?" Aerys smiled in curiosity. "Is she one of Lord Swann's daughters, or perhaps a Dondarrion?"

"Lady Cassana of Estermont,"

Aerys looked over at his cousin as though he had grown a second head. "Estermont, you mean the turtles? That minor house on that little spit of an island? You want to marry one of _them?_" the king shook his head in disbelief. "By all the gods, she is well below your station. You are a grandson of a King; you should be marrying into one of the great Houses."

"I don't give a damn about any of that cousin," he said firmly. "I know Cassana; I have spoken with her, spent days in her presence. I love her and want her to be my wife."

The king gave a bark of laughter at that, long and loud. He turned to Ser Gerold Hightower, still chuckling away. "Can you believe this? He could marry some of most powerful families of Westeros and he chooses the turtles." He continued to laugh for a few moments before wiping a tear from his eye.

The White Bull looked Steffon up and down and gave a crooked smile. "You have the look alright," he laughed.

Steffon furrowed his brows in confusion. "What look?"

"The look of a man in love, I've seen it before on your uncle Aemon when he was courting my sister." The big knight smiled in fond remembrance. "We Hightowers have our wealth that's true, and my sister was certainly a beautiful woman….but that wasn't what Aemon was after, he wed her because he loved her."

"And I love Cassana," he assured. "More than anything."

Aerys gave his cousin a slap on the shoulder and chuckled to himself. "Very well cousin, I'll give you my blessing. We'll even have the wedding here if you like," a dark look came over the king's face. "Someone in this family should be happy."

* * *

Steffon settled back into the soft upholstery with a sigh, stretching his feet out towards the fire, working his aching ankles round and round in clicking circles. _I must ask Aerys to send some of these chairs back to Storm's End._

Rhaella did not seem so comfortable. _But then Aerys behaviour this morning was hardly a comfortable experience. _She stood frowning out of the window, thoughtful, one hand pulling nervously at a strand of hair. "I need a drink." She went over to the table and made to pour herself a glass. She paused, and looked round. "Aren't you going to tell me it's too early in the day?"

Steffon shrugged. "You know what the time is."

"I just need something, after his rant…"

"Then have something. I'm not your father; you don't need to explain yourself to me."

Rhaella jerked her head round and gave him a hard look, opened her mouth as thought about to speak, and then she shoved the cup angrily away. "Happy?"

Steffon shrugged. "I'm somewhat content, but your state of sobriety has no bearing on that." He smiled and took her hand. "Your presence alone is enough to inspire."

"Oh you've always been a charmer!" Rhaella fluttered her eyelashes and pretended to swoon. "And such a gallant bard, soon to married."

The storm lord gave a happy nod. "I hope to bring her to court soon; I hope you'll like her."

Rhaella sat down gracefully on the seat opposite him, placing her hands in her lap and smiling at him with her vibrant purple eyes. Out of the few members of their family, Rhaella had the most of Steffon's mother in her appearance. It was something in the lines of the cheekbones and the shape of her eyes. "I'm sure I will cousin, I hope she makes you very happy."

He noticed there was a hint of sadness in her voice, and deep regret. _Why did you do this grandfather? Neither one of them is happy, why take the advice from some woods witch?_ The thoughts were painful. He wished that he could have asked spoken to his family with more seriousness than he did, he had so many questions that would never be answered.

"I saw Lord Hightower's daughter at court a few weeks ago," said Rhaella suddenly. "Did I tell you? She looks adorable."

That brought a smile to his face. "Little Alerie,"

"She and Rhaegar were quite the sight at the dance," the queen giggled. "I couldn't tell who was more uncomfortable in that arrangement, and to think, in a few years he'll it'll be all we can do to keep the girls away from him."

_Let us hope that he doesn't take after Aerys in that regard. _"How is the little prince?" he asked, trying to keep his grim thoughts pressed down. "I've heard he's quite smart for his age."

Rhaella beamed. "Oh Steffon, I found him reading _The_ _Lives of Four Kings_. Do you remember the size of that tome? He read it all in a single day, he reminds me of Father."

"Well, he is _your_ son Rhae. It's natural that he'd be so smart," Steffon paused for a moment. "How does Aerys fare around the boy?"

The Queen frowned a little at that and stared sourly down at her shoes. "Aerys is as loud as Rhaegar is quiet, and he doesn't have the patience to sit and talk with his son. Sometimes I wonder if Aerys even loves him."

"I'm certain that he does Rhae," assured Steffon. "Aerys just isn't good at expressing himself that way."

Rhaella's mouth twisted. "Sometimes I wonder how much better things would be if he had died that day in Summerhall. Rhaegar would have been born, you and I could have ruled until he was old enough."

"Rhae, that's not fair." He tried. "Aerys can be foolish at times, and I know you and he don't get along anymore, but he is still your brother."

She shook her head sadly. "You don't understand, I see him every day. He's not just impulsive…sometimes he falls into black moods and says the most awful things, he frightens me sometimes." The queen took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sometimes I wish I was as strong as you…"

Steffon smiled at that and took Rhaella's hands within his own. "Why would you want that? I have only a fraction of your strength, and even less of your courage." He kissed his cousin's knuckles and gave another smile. "And don't you worry; I'll take care of Aerys."

A sharp sound cut through the chamber and Ser Harlan stepped forwards. "Apologies Your Grace, but there is a visitor for Ser Steffon."

"Who?" asked Steffon. 

"The lady says her name is Myrcella."

Steffon felt the whole left side of his face twitching. _Myrcella?_ He had not thought that his bastard cousin would have any reason to come to King's Landing. She might be the daughter of a knight, but in the end she was still baseborn and would be shunned at court. _She wouldn't put up with that, so why is she here? _

Rhaella was frowning over at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he croaked, striving to keep his voice from sounding strangled. "My uncle Harbert's bastard daughter, will you excuse me for a moment?" he asked as he rose to his feet. "This might be important."

"Of course, I'll be here."

Steffon got up and followed the old knight out into the hallway. Myrcella stood waiting impatiently in the hall. Her coal black hair was tied in a loose braid over her shoulder, the darkness of her hair a sharp contrast with how pale she had grown. She was biting her lip nervously and tapping her shoe against the marble floor with some ferocity. When she looked up and saw him she threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. "Steffy!" she said before breaking into a mass of sobs against his shoulder.

"Cella, what's wrong?" he asked, lifting her face to look at him. "What happened?"

"It's…it's your father." She said between sobs, "He's dead."


	5. The Other Side of the Dispute

**A/N: As always, thank you Ramzes for the lovely reviews**

**AELIX**

The voyage had not been a pleasant one. The ship was small and the Narrow Sea had been rough the way over. Aelix's own cabin was tiny, hot and close as an oven. _An oven swaying wildly all day and night._ If he hadn't been trying to eat porridge with the bowl slopping crazily around, he had been vomiting back up the small amounts he had managed to swallow.

But now the voyage was over. The ship was already slipping up to its mooring in amongst the crowded wharves. The sailors were already struggling with the anchor, throwing ropes on to the dock. Now the gangplank was sliding across from ship to dusty shore.

"Everything looks good so far," said Illyrio. "I'm going to get a drink."

Aelix grinned. "Make it a strong one; we have work to do later. Lots of work."

Illyrio nodded, lanky hair swaying around his thin face. "Meet you by the fountain in an hour?"

"Aye,"

His friend gave another nod and sauntered off, whistling tunelessly, clattered across the plank, down the wharf and off between the dusty brown buildings beyond.

_By the gods it's hot out. _Aelix had forgotten how hot it could get in Myr. It was an autumn year and yet still the sun was blazing down and still he was running with sweat underneath his loose clothes. To add insult to injury, now that he had become used to the constant lurching of the ship, the stillness of land was making his head spin and his stomach roll, and the rotten salt stink of the baking docks was very far from helping.

Aelix set off into the city at a casual pace and took in his surroundings. The buildings were mean and badly maintained: rickety shacks of one storey, leaning piles of half-baked mud bricks. The people were olive skinned, poorly dressed, hungry-looking. Down a narrow alley ragged children darted between piles of refuse. _A giant, boiling, dusty, stinking slum, _he decided. _The only creatures who will prosper here are the flies…_

His opinion began to change the deeper he travelled into the city. Stately domes, elegant towers, mosaics of coloured glass and pillars of white marble shone in the blazing sun. The streets, while still heavily populated, where wide and clean, the residences well maintained. Things grew louder as he emerged into a wide square, packed from one edge to the other with a bewildering throng of merchants. They crowded round stalls laden with produce, great scales for weighing of materials. They bellowed, borrowed and bartered in a multitude of different languages, threw up their hands in strange gestures, shoved and tugged and pointed at one another.

_The great gift of civilization,_ he thought with a grin.

The way grew steeper as he began to climb, the streets built onto shelves cut out from dry hillside. Aelix laboured on through the heat, thirsty as a dog and with sweat leaking out through every pore. Finally after some time he arrived at his destination.

Magister Thrayn was a thickset man with a heavy, black beard, a bald head, and a white robe worked with golden thread. He rose and gave a nod as Aelix crossed the threshold. _An earthly man, it seems, though appearances can be deceiving…_

"So you are the one she has sent," His voice was deep and rich, his mastery of the common tongue predictably excellent. "I had thought you would have been older."

"With youth comes innovation my lord," he gave a thin smile. "But you need not worry about my age, I merely here to give you my mistress' offer."

"Oh?" his brow rose slightly. "And what is that?"

"You give full trading rights of the outgoing spices to her…" he trailed off theatrically, "…and she will use every resource she has to see you as the Merchant Prince of Myr. Her own father held the title in Pentos as you very well know and has quite the experience in these matters."

Fingers heavy with golden rings snatched up choice morsels from a nearby plate and tossed them in his waiting mouth, eyes never leaving Aelix for a moment. "You must forgive me, but I'm afraid Lady Nateya's proposal has come at the most inappropriate of times. The political situation of Myr is….volatile." he picked up a goblet of wine, took a swig, sloshed it slowly round in his mouth while he watched Aelix, and swallowed. "Even more so than usual."

"More volatile than usual?" asked Aelix. 'I understood that Lys had made a pact with your city promising no more hostility."

"Promised no more hostility, yes that was so." The magister took another mouthful of wine, swallowed. "But that does not mean they will give us aid either, and Tyrosh looks over at us greedily. They have continued on with their war. An exceptionally bloody war, even for this exhausted land. The Tyroshi managed to get around my people's forces, and now make way to lay siege on our poor city as we speak."

"Ah. You seem unmoved."

"I weep on the inside, but I have seen it all before. War and revolution are frequent, such is the way of the Disputed Lands, but for now I am simply trying to survive and escape the nightmare unscathed. As such, I cannot make any new arrangements; ambition can get you killed in times like these."

Aelix frowned. "Then, if by some chance, Tyrosh were to be repelled and the conflict ended….then would you be open to negotiation?"

The magister paused. "The enemy is a week away from our gates, I may be dead by the moon's turn, but..." his eyes slid up to Aelix with a knowing smile. "If I were to live and our Tyroshi friends were to disappear…well then it would be in my interest to make friends with my Pentoshi neighbours."

* * *

"How did it go?"

Aelix grimaced. "It was as you said; he will not make the deal unless something is done about those pesky Tyroshi….what about you?"

Illyrio counted the points off with the fingers of his left hand. "The outer walls are crumbling and poorly manned. The ditch beyond is so choked with dirt it barely exists. The gates have not been replaced in years, and are falling to pieces on their own. If the Tyroshi were to attack tomorrow, I am thinking that we would see a lot of dead Myrish."

"How many men have we?"

The blonde sellsword paused for a moment. "They have exactly one thousand soldiers still within the city walls."

"A thousand? Is that all?"

"There are sellswords in the city also, but they are  
scattered and mostly stick to drinking in whatever damp shitholes they can find. "

"How many do you think?"

Illyrio shrugged. "Perhaps a thousand, perhaps more."

Aelix shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted into the blinding sun. The brown outline of the city walls stretched out across the horizon, while the sun pressed down on them like a great weight. It pressed into Aelix's thin clothes and into his bones. It threatened to squeeze the water right out him, squash the life right out of him, and crush him to his knees. "I'll need to visit these people, and soon."

"I can take you, but we should have brought Varys along with us," Illyrio murmured. "He knows all the places of this city."

"No," snapped Aelix. "I need him to stay in Pentos; someone has to watch over Serra. Besides, this will require the two of us to get our hands dirty and you know how averse he is to that sort of thing."

The mention of Serra's name was enough to sober up Illyrio. "I see your point. Let us go then, it would be all the more dangerous for us to visit these sellswords at night…"

* * *

The tavern could hardly be called such. The building was really little more than a piss-smelling shack with some oddments of furniture, everything stained with ancient sweat and recent spillages. Customers and staff were indistinguishable: drunken fools stretched out in the heat. It took every bit of Aelix's self-control to not sneer at them all in disgust.

"Fancy a drink?" asked Illyrio with a stupid grin.

Aelix frowned. "I'd rather drink sewer water, it's likely healthier than what comes from this place."

"Ah Aelix," laughed the blonde. "You'd fit right in here with your tattered robes."

He looked down at the tattered scarf about his neck, grey and speckled with blood. The same material was also sown into his cloak, along with dozens of other mismatched pieces. It was the sole remnant that he had from his birth, the only connection to those that had birthed and sired him before sending him away. Over the years it had been torn and ripped, but he also made sure to fix it with whatever materials he could find. _We all have our oddities…_

"That one," said Illyrio, pointing over to a man who lay sprawled over a wicker chair. "He commands around five hundred men, though I hear they are currently out of work."

The man was a stony Dornishman; with a long greasy light-brown hair that stuck from his head at all angles. His neck and jaw were covered in a week's growth, somewhere between beard and stubble. His face looked burnt red from the sun, with freckles covering his gaunt cheeks. Sweat beaded down his skin, a lazy fly crawling across his face.

The Sellsword prised open one red-rimmed eye, blinked, squinted up, and slowly began to smile. "Evening lads, come to join the festivities?" he worked his mouth; grimacing, glanced down and saw a bottle at his side, lifted it and took a long, thirsty pull. Deep swallows, just as if it were water in the bottle._ So a professional drunkard then. This is the man I need to protect the city…._

"I heard you're the man with the most swords to his name," said Aelix sceptically.

The drunkard gave a mock salute. "Ryon Toland at your service," he gestured to a couple of chairs beside him. "Come, sit. I guarantee this place will look better if you're drunk enough."

Illyrio looked unsure. "You think you'll ever be drunk enough?"

"No, but it's worth trying." As if to prove his point he sucked another mouthful from the bottle.

Aelix slid out a rickety chair with one foot and eased himself into, hoping it would bear his weight. _Crashing on my backside with a bundle of sticks would hardly send the right message._ "My name is Aelix," he gestured to his blonde friend, "this is Illyrio."

Toland looked at him for a long time. His eyes were bloodshot, sunken, heavy-lidded, yet possessed a certain level of calculation. Aelix wondered if he was half as drunk as he made out. "You're the Rags-and-Tatters; I've heard tell of you…"

"I'm flattered."

"A fighting man should know his enemies, and a man who fights for gold never knows who his next enemy might be. I heard your name mentioned, some time ago in Lys, been giving the nobles a bit of trouble, doing unsavoury things. Bold and clever, that's what I heard." His glassy eyes rose, "I also heard that you were an arrogant young shit who needed his head kicked in for selling secrets."

Aelix shrugged. "When you want to sleep under a dry roof and eat warm food at night, sometimes you have to be willing to get your hands dirty."

Toland grinned. "Never doubt another's choices, I say. You can't know his reasons, I even told that to the Princess of Dorne, and you know what she told me?"

"What?"

"She said," a feral look passed over his face. "That I never had a good reason for any of the things I did. Can you believe that?" he sneered in disgust. "It was those fools Blackmont and Gargalen, they were whispering in her ear…" Toland waved the thought away. "Forget them. What brings you to Myr?"

The young man tapped at the arm of his chair. "I was sent to do some negotiating, trying to build connections between potential business partners," he let a frown settle in the corners of his mouth. "But talk of war has put that on hold, now I'm merely here to help with the defence of this noble city from those wicked Tyroshi."

The sellsword gave a bubbling sound, half laugh, half cough. "You're bold alright," he wheezed.

"It's served me well so far."

Toland scratched thoughtfully at his sweaty beard. "And let me guess…..you want me and my men to be the ones to protect the city?" he opened his bottle again. "You'd need a lot of coin to convince me to do something as suicidal as that."

"What if could convince some of your competitors to join up with you?" asked Aelix.

The Dornishman paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. "I don't think you understand the situation boy, I have five hundred men who will fight. The fat Summer Islander Corisin has four hundred, the several others are so small that aren't even worth mentioning. Together you could probably get around two thousand men if you include the city watch as well. That might be enough to last a siege or it might not. Either way, none of them would be willing to work together, not as long as that piss-bucket Corisin is acting against me."

Aelix exchanged a glance with Illyrio before looking back at Toland. "I could get him to work with you, and with your combined force I'd say the Myrish nobles would be willing to hire you, especially if I put in a good word."

Toland snorted. "I don't doubt your skills with fooling a fat nobleman, but you're a damned fool if you think Corisin would willingly work with me- I did kill his concubine after all."

The young man waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter, I can force his hand."

"How?"

Aelix couldn't help but feel a grin curling in the corners of his mouth. "I know where his daughter lives."


	6. Reveries in a Ruin

**A/N: As always, thanks go to Ramzes**

"What's it looking like Arnolf?"

The old man sucked on his teeth for a moment, spat, then handed the Myrish glass to Steffon. He took the small object and looked through it. The stony ruins of Summerhall still sitting together oddly in a vague semblance of what it used to be. Just looking at the place was enough to make Steffon's chest beat all the harder. "Looks unoccupied," he croaked.

Arnolf nodded tiredly. "Aye and the stones are still piled up high enough to serve as a decent defensive position…though I still think we should return to Storm's End."

"My father died knowing that these outlaws were still running rabid through his lands," Steffon handed the Myrish glass back to the old knight. "I mean to see them brought to justice before I return to Storm's End."

Around them a storm was settling in. It was no petulant child's tantrum like the storms of the Crownlands, this was a cold and murderous, merciless and grudge-bearing, bitter and relentless fury of a storm. The rain came down in sheets, dousing the endless plains and everything on it with icy water. The fat drops stung at Steffon's scalp like sling-stones, nipped at his exposed hands, the tops of his ears, the back of his neck. Water trickled through his hair, through his eyebrows, down his face in rivulets and into his sodden collar. The rain was a grey curtain across the land.

It had been raining the last time he saw Cassana. He remembered it all with a painful clarity. The colour of her eyes, the set of her mouth, one corner curved up. Just thinking about it made him have to swallow that familiar lump in his throat. The lump he swallowed twenty times a day. First thing in the morning, when he woke, and last thing at night, as he lay on the hard ground. To be back with Cassana now, safe and warm, seemed like the realisation of all his dreams.

They rode hard through the wetness and finally came upon the ruined castle that the Targaryens had once called home. It shocked Steffon to see that some of the stones were still black with soot after all the years since the fire. _It was no normal fire,_ he told himself as he and his men entered through the ruin of the main gate. _The Gods themselves must have set the fire to work…that and grandfather's stupidity._

The ruin loomed over them. A forest of shattered pillars, a maze of broken walls, the ground around it strewn with fallen blocks as long as a man was tall. Crumbling windows and empty doorways yawned like wounds. A ragged black outline, chopped out from the flying clouds like a giant row of broken teeth.

"How long did it take them to build this?" asked Brynden Farring.

"I'm not sure," admitted Steffon. "My grandfather's grandfather had it built during his reign, as a home away from court. Where we stand is where the Reach, Stormlands and the Dornish marches all meet up. This was the home of my uncle Aemon for a time."

Petyr Grandison squinted at the sprawling wreck. "All of this was home to one man?"

"And not even for very long time. At first it was a casual residence for my royal uncles to laze about when they wanted to escape politics. During the warmest summers my grandfather the king would bring his retinue here as well, taking up residence for several turns of the moon in the echoing halls, the beautiful gardens, the gilded chambers. But after my Uncle Aemon married his Hightower wife they settled here for a year or two while my Uncle Jaehaerys stayed with his family in the capitol and Uncle Duncan went travelling with Jenny. After lady Hightower died my Uncle Aemon stayed here for a few more years, rarely leaving. Then the whole family gathered together here to wake the dragons." Steffon shook his head in pain. "In the times past, before the fire, this place glittered like the sea beneath the rising sun."

The wreck of Summerhall was full of shadows, and stillness, and decay. The outsize ruins towered around them all covered with blackened soil. Spiders had spun great glistening webs in leaning doorways, heavy with sparkling beads of dew. Everywhere, water dripped, and ran, and plopped in hidden pools.

They hitched their horses up in one of the least collapsed stables and headed into the depths of the castle, trying to get into the dry warmth as quickly as possible. Much of the great hall was collapsed and caved in but several of the other passageways remained relatively undamaged and dry enough for them to set down and rest. Steffon however, was too entranced by his surroundings to settle down and continued down the paths until he finally came to a stairway. He took a few cautious steps and once he found the stones to be solid, made his way up.

_"You really need to get out more."_

_Aemon looked up at his sister with a mixture of irritation and amusement. He took a breath and closed the book he was reading, gently caressing the cover as he set it down on his large weirwood desk. Once Rhaelle got something in her head very few things could sway her course. "I'm perfectly content as I am," _

_Rhaelle set her jaw at that and fixed him with a fiery glare. "I'm serious Aemon, people have been talking."_

_"They have not," he said with a throaty laugh. "The last time anyone said anything about me was when I married Alerie, and even then it was only the occasional rude mention of how the Hightowers helped the wrong side during the Dance of the Dragons." He couldn't help but smile wider at his sister. "I'm sure court has already forgotten me by now."_

_The lady of Storm's End gave a long, tired sigh. "Well I worry about you, when was the last time you left this place?"_

_Aemon scratched his jaw and considered. "Rhaella's last name day."_

_"That was moons ago!"_

_The prince of Summerhall shrugged artlessly and leaned back on the edge of his desk. "I'm not fond of crowds or all that excitement"_

_Rhaelle looked over at her youngest brother with a defeated frown. "That wasn't always so. I remember a little boy who used to be full of energy, who would laugh and enjoy life."_

_"I do enjoy life," he said quietly. "I just don't have the energy to go out and do all the old things. Besides," his eyes filled with warmth, "I get to see you and Steffon more than I ever would at court."_

_Upon hearing his name being mentioned, the young Baratheon lifted himself off of the nearby bench and sauntered over, already standing taller than his lady mother. "Someone said my name?"_

_Aemon gave a laugh. "Your mother is just being overdramatic as usual, it's one of her many talents," he leant forward conspiratorially, his eyes gleaming. "She's always been annoying like that."_

_"You were worse," replied Rhaelle, crossing her arms. "You'd always follow me around, never giving me a moment's peace."_

_The prince of Summerhall turned to his nephew. "Ah, but you see Steffon, when we were children your mother was the most interesting person in the whole world. "_

_Rhaelle rolled her eyes but struggled to keep a smile from her face. "You've always been a charmer…"_

* * *

Steffon stood in the burnt ruins of his Uncle's old chamber. The fire had blackened much, and some of the side rooms were collapsed in with the rubble but the old desk still stood strong, the weirwood looking relatively untouched amidst the smoke stained ruins. A shadow of a smile came over his face and he laid a loving hand across the grey wood.

"You alright?"

Steffon spun around, hand on his sword but gave a sigh of relief when he saw it was simply Petyr. He waved the young knight over. "Take a look at this, these carvings here. This desk used to belong to Bloodraven himself, it's made entirely out of weirwood and covered in ruins made by the First men."

Petyr examined the rest of the room with a frown. "If only they could have made castles from Weirwood," his frown deepened. "My lord I'd recommend that we start setting up defences right away. The storm may keep the brotherhood at bay for a time, but we have much to do. Pits have to be dug, walls need to be mortared….things could become nasty."

"The brotherhood knows we're here, they know they outnumber us three-to-one," Steffon forced a grin. "What greedy bandit could resist attacking? The trap is set, and no doubt they've taken the bait."

Grandison huffed. "What if reinforcements don't arrive in time?"

"Then we'll hold them off until they come."

An ugly scowl crossed Petyr's face but he nodded none the less. Steffon followed him out into the exterior of the castle to help the men set up. As they walked he recognised all the familiar places he used to play around as a child. The space outside where the gardens had once been was filled with small, knotty trees, planted in rows, but long overgrown. Great weeds and nettles, brown and sagging rotten from the rain, stood almost waist high around the blackened walls.

Brynden Farring stood before one of the trees, a pleasant grin on his face. "The lodgings are a little past their best, but at least the fruit trees are still in working order." He plucked a green apple from a low hanging branch and began to shine it on his sleeve. "There's nothing like a fine apple, and from the king's orchard, no less."

Petyr looked about at the greenery. "Strange, eh? How plants outlast the greatest works of men?"

Steffon sat down on a fallen statue nearby and slid out his blade from its sheath and laid it across his knees. Steel glinted mirror-bright as he turned it over in his lap, casually examining the reflection. He pulled out his whetstone, spat on it, and carefully set to work on the long blade. The metal rang gently as the stone moved back and forward. It was always soothing, the sound, the ritual; it reminded Steffon of the armoury at Storm's End and the days of his youth.

_"Will you come to the tourney?"_

_Aemon looked somewhat confused. "What tourney would that be?"_

_"The one at Storm's End," insisted Steffon. "It's going to be held in a few weeks, to mark my lady mother's nameday. You'll come won't you?"_

_The Targaryen watched his nephew with two sad purple eyes. They closed once, in a long slow blink and remained shut for a time and Steffon thought that perhaps his uncle had fallen asleep, but then Aemon gave a sigh and opened them again, his eyes seemingly absent whatever pain filled them a moment ago. "Are you planning on putting your name in the lists?" he asked quietly._

_"I…er, I don't know," murmured Steffon, flicking his gaze away. "There will be many great warriors competing, better riders…"_

_Aemon said nothing, but moved his hands together and rested his chin upon them, his eyes full of sadness once more. "You know, your Uncle Duncan was a great tourney knight, he still would be if he ever put his mind to doing it again. He was confident, and that confidence was his shield, it was his sword. But you know what the bards and the smallfolk call him? They call him the Prince of Dragonflies," a ghost of a smile settled on his lips. "He's quite a bit shorter than myself or your grandfather, takes after the Martells you see….but if I were to challenge him I am certain that he would beat me." He gently placed his hand on Steffon's shoulder and gave him a rueful smile. "Half of every test we face is a matter of belief in ourselves; all you need is confidence, lad."_

_"But what if I fail?" _

_His uncle shrugged. "If you fail then you fail, every mistake a chance to better yourself," a slow grin formed on his face then and for a moment his eyes shone with a gleam of humour. "How about this, I'll come to the tourney if you enter the lists?" he held out his slender hand. "Do we have a deal?"_

_Steffon hesitated for a moment before he felt his resolve strengthen and he firmly took the outstretched hand. "Deal."_

* * *

"Nice day for a battle," said Arnolf.

"Aye," but Steffon wasn't sure such a thing existed.

"Well, if the brotherhood doesn't show, and we don't kill any outlaws, at least the men will have done wonders for your family's castle, eh?

It was amazing how well and how fast a man could patch a wall when it was the pile of stones that might one day save his own life. A few short days and they had the whole stretch of it built up and mortared, most of the overgrown trees cut away. From inside the outer wall the castle looked like little more than a smashed and burnt out ruin, but from the other side of the wall it was four times the height of a tall man up to the walkway. They had made the parapet neck-high at the top, with plenty of goods slots for shooting and throwing rocks from. Then they had dug out a decent ditch in front, and lined it with sharp stakes.

They'd dug the ditch out especially deep right in front of the old gate, but it was still the weakest spot, and there was no avoiding it. That was where Steffon and his knight's would be gathered thickest if the outlaws came.

"See anything?" asked Petyr as he strolled up from behind.

Steffon grinned at him. "A lot, as it goes."

The sun was slitting the clouds with bright lines, eating into shadows across the hard land, burning away the dawn haze. The great fells loomed up bold and careless on either side, smeared with yellow green grass and fern on the slopes. Below, the bare field was quiet and still. It was spotted with bushes and clumps of stunted trees, creased with paths of dried-out streams that were little more than mud now. It was just as empty as it had been the day before, and the day before that, and ever since they had gotten there.

Petyr took a mouthful of water from his skin, sloshed it round in his mouth and spat it out over the side of the wall, down into the pits below. "It's quite a spot for a view, but I meant our outlaw friends."

"No, not a sign of them."

Arnolf shook his big head. "Would've expected there to be some sign by now, if he was coming."

Petyr frowned at that. "Maybe they won't fall for it."

"Maybe they won't," said Steffon with slight irritation. "How's the wall?"

"Alright, long as they don't bring a siege tower, how long do you think we wait, before we pack up and-"

"Shh!" hissed Arnolf, his long finger pointing down the field.

Steffon saw a flicker of movement down there, and again. He swallowed. A couple of men, maybe, creeping through the bushes like beetles through gravel. He felt the men tense up all around him, heard them muttering. He looked out at the horizon and saw as the tiny shapes began to grow, and move towards the ruins of Summerhall with deadly intent. _ I believe we can win, and that's half the test. _

_I hope. _


End file.
